In Sleep He Came
by Kandakicksass
Summary: ... oh yes, he did. ErikxRaoul drabbles, ficlets and other such writings of varied content. Warning, may get explicit. Not for children!
1. In Dreams He Came

**Everyone, say hello to my new OTP! :) So in mild explanation, this is going to be a bunch of random drabbles and ficlets and such of that variety, ranging from a K rating… to well above an M rating. :O) SO please enjoy! BTW, all of these little bits will be ErikxRaoul. I hate Christine.**

"In sleep he sang to me!"

"Yes, but you don't even want to _know _what I was singing."

"… In dreams he came!"

"That wasn't a dream."

"… That voice which calls to me…"

"More like screaming."

"… and speaks my name…"

"Again, screaming."

"And do I dream again?"

"Well, you _should _be quite tired…"

"… For now I find…"

"I've been here for a while, babe."

"The phantom of the opera is here…"

"INSIDE YOUR PANTS!"

"For the love of god, Erik, I said NOT AGAIN!"

Christine stood frozen outside the door to box five.

"Raoul? Angel? What are you doing?" she called, hoping she'd be proven wrong. Noticeable pause.

"ERIK, I _TOLD _YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN! DAMN YOUR UNSATISFYABLE LIBIDO!"

Christine's eye twitched.

**I'm not sure where this came from, but I hope you all enjoyed it!**


	2. Keeping Track of Time

**This idea occurred to me yesterday at five in the morning and I decided to wait until six the next day to begin writing it. Yes, it's drabble, and this fic is for drabbles of ALL sorts, not just comedy, so it does go here :)**

**IT **was exactly two months, three weeks, and nine days into their relationship when Raoul realized that he was being a complete idiot. It was one month, two weeks, and twenty-four days after that when he realized that this relationship was never going to work. And he was right, because two weeks and six days later, he was laying on the swan bed watching his dark, brooding lover compose yet another piece of beautiful music that, yet again, was not for him.

Raoul supposed that this was what he got for pursuing a relationship with a man who was completely obsessed with another woman. Or rather, _a _woman because Raoul wasn't a woman in the first place for Christine to be the _other _woman. He was hardly making sense in his own head anymore, but he also supposed that if you tilted your eyes and squinted, the logic was there.

"Quit thinking so hard, fop. Your distressing brain waves are putting a damper on my already skanty inspiration."

Raoul frowed and turned in the other direction, looking at the wall. He knew he was sulking, but at that moment, he simply couldn't care. He heard a sigh, then footsteps. He tried to bury himself in the bed, make himself small, whatever he could try that would possibly work, because he didn't want this.

Well, he did, but he knew Erik was only doing it because he was making a point of it.

Erik knew he was jealous—how could he not? He was _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_—in other, simpler terms, he knew everything about the Opéra Populaire, from its blue prints, to its patron. He felt Erik press his lips softly to Raoul's temple and the blonde rolled onto his back to look up at his mysterious partner with a slightly disgruntled expression.

"Why did you stop playing, Monsieur Phantom? What lovely music it was."

Erik raised an eyebrow and Raoul bit his bottom lip. Of course. Erik did know everything after all.

"Such lovely music written for Christine," he finished as he knew he should, his eyes shifting from the half-handsome, half-dressed man sitting next to him. Erik's eyes softened and he stroked Raoul's face, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes.

"You are quite wrong. It was going to be a surprise, but your inexubrant jealousy has put a damper on that as well. Just what I would expect from a fop." Erik's ghost of a smile was lovely and without a word of argument, Raoul followed him, sitting down next to his wonderful phantom, completely disregarding his current state of undress. After all, when sitting next to the sexiest man alive, who really needs clothes?

Erik began with the chorus he had been working on, and indeed, when Raoul actually looked at the notes, they were in the tenor range, not the soprano. Quitely, under his breath, he sang along with the seraphic voice urging him in a whisper.

_Find me lying here_

_Your arms are warm and open_

_Encompass me_

_Make me safe like only you can_

_Love you, love me_

_Together we will live_

_Together we will thrive_

The words were as beautiful as the music accompanying. With a smile and slightly damp eyes, Raoul leaned over and kissed his phantom, who returned both the smile and the kiss.

"I do love you, Erik. I just sometimes fear I can't compare."

"To Christine?" Erik scoffed. "Please. Raoul, love, she can't even compare to _you_." Raoul nodded, his smile shy.

"I know."

They kissed again, and Raoul got a pleasant reminder of why he was in this relationship at all. Five months, one week, and one day after he had burst into the lair only to tackle the ghost who had haunted his dreams for weeks, he finally settled into the role as the consort of the Opera Ghost.

**This came out a little weird, but I think it's cute. That's drabble for you! :) I liked it!**

**Kandakicksass**


	3. Box 5

**WARNING: Crack!**

"YOU FUCKING IMBICILES! WHAT THE _HELL _DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY DAMN BOX! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Armand and Firmin weren't sure what to do. On one hand, Firmin looked like he was about to jump off the balcony of the damn box just to escape from the VERY pissed off phantom in front of him, and on the other, Armand was struck speechless in horror. They had never thought he was real—and here he was, cursing at them quite loudly. The entire of the opera house had gone silent, all eyes turning to box 5.

"M-Monsieur Phantom—" Armand tried weakly.

The ghost interrupted him, the uncovered (rather handsome) half of his face livid with anger. "NO, YOU DON'T GET TO FUCKING TALK YOURSELF OUT OF _THIS _ONE! THIS IS MY _DAMN BOX _AND YOU HAVE TRIED ME TO THE END OF MY PATIENCE! I HAVE DONE THINGS IN THIS DAMN BOX YOU HAVEN'T EVEN DREAMED OF!" Suddenly, he went silent, as if contemplating something. When he spoke again, it was loud enough for everyone to hear, sly, and entirely terrifying. "Why, M. Moncharmin, just the _other day _I was in the very seat you sit on with your dear patron on my lap…"

All eyes went from the phantom to the de Chagny's box. Philippe looked at his little brother in horror, and Raoul's eyes went wide in embarrassment, red flooding his face.

"SO NOW YOU SEE WHY YOU SHOULD STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY—"

Suddenly, the phantom's screaming was drowned out by the mortified blonde's.

"GODDAMNIT, ERIK! YOU FUCKING ASS, YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KEEP IT A _SECRET_!" Raoul bellowed, his cheeks flaming.

For the second time that night, the Opéra Populaire was utterly silent. Backstage, Mme. Giry dropped a pin in glee, excited when the sound rang through the hall.


	4. Show Me What I'm Looking For

**Warnings: Song-fic, abuse. I don't own POTO, any of the recognizeable characters, or the song Show Me What I'm Looking For by Carolina Liar. Please enjoy!**

While Erik raved, Raoul sat huddled in a corner, his blue eyes wide and trained on the golden ones of his captor. The blonde held himself, as if letting go would make him fall apart, his nails digging into the inky splotches left by the man violently raging in front of him.

_Wait, I'm wrong  
Should've done better than this  
Please, I'll be strong  
I'm finding it hard to resist_

"And you," Erik said suddenly, a half mad look in his eyes. Raoul froze. "Sitting there, like you're being forced to stay. You're betraying me as much as she is, being _afraid_! Why do you betray me so!"

Erik came forward and Raoul flinched out of habit as the man grabbed his wrist again, jerking him up harshly.

_So show me what I'm looking for  
Save me, I'm lost  
Oh Lord I've been waiting for you_

_I'll pay any cost  
Save me from being confused  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Oh Lord_

"Will you betray me, too, Raoul?" he asked, leering into Raoul's face as if he could see into his soul that way. Raoul shook his head, already his eyes filling with tears.

"Never, Erik, never," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "Why would I betray you? I—" He coughed, clearing his voice. "I love you."

_Don't let go  
I've wanted this far too long  
Mistakes become regrets  
I've learned to love abuse  
Please show me what I'm looking for_

Raoul was thrown the floor again, straddled, and was pulled into a rough kiss by his already fragile hair. His scalp burned as his hair was pulled harder to force him to respond, and he did. He knew that if he refused, horrible things would happen, but he wasn't thinking about that.

"You love me," Erik whispered, and Raoul nodded fervently, like his love would save his life. And how, how he loved. It wasn't a lie, or a plea for mercy, those words. He really did love Erik, love him with all the emotion his heart could muster as beaten and bruised as it was.

"I love you."

_Save me, I'm lost  
Oh Lord I've been waiting for you  
I'll pay any cost  
Save me from being confused  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Oh Lord_

_Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for_

Oh god, help me, he thought as Erik's grasp loosened and arms wrapped around him gently. "My Raoul," Erik said calmly, affectionately. Raoul gasped and burying his face in Erik's chest, nodding. Tears stung his eyes.

"Yes, Erik. My poor Erik. Your Raoul." He had never thought he would be using the words Christine had so long ago, but here he was, a prisoner of love and violence, saying them.

"Your poor Erik," the man echoed absently, stroking Raoul's hair. And how good that felt. "I love you, too." Despite the abuse, Raoul knew he meant it. That love was why he was still here, trapped in the dark underground with this ghost, this… _angel_. This violent, angry, pitiful angel.

_Save me, I'm lost  
Oh Lord I've been waiting for you  
I'll pay any cost  
To save me from being confused  
Wait, I'm wrong  
I can't do better than this  
I'll pay any cost  
Save me from being confused_

"Will you sing for me, Erik?"

He felt Erik nod against his hair and waited. Soon, Erik's voice, softly, filled the caves, reverberating sweetly with its heavenly notes. Raoul cried silently into Erik's chest, knowing when the man suddenly tightened his grip and his body trembled that Erik was sorry. So, so sorry.

It was okay, and he knew that when Erik calmed the angel would know that. In Raoul's eyes, his love shadowed the abuse. Raoul could take it for this man, this angel in his arms.

_Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Show me what I'm looking for  
Oh Lord_

**Mostly, this makes me feel better knowing I'm updating SOMETHING, when I know how much you guys want me to update my other stuff… keep in mind I'm wokring on it; the inspiration IS coming back, I'm almost sure of it! Until then, I will be updating In Sleep He Came (yes, I know those aren't the actual lyrics, and they're not supposed to be. There's already a story called 'In Dreams He Came', and besides, it would have been a little **_**too **_**cliché) regularly. I hope that's okay with all of you! Thank you for the reviews, by the way!**

**Kandakicksass**


	5. PreDating

**A little partial-funny inspired by my boyfriend, Dyllan, so thank him. And yes, he knows he inspired this! This is movie-verse, just for the sake of it, by the way. I felt it flowed better in the Webber-verse.**

Raoul shivered at the feel of the arms around him, melting into the embrace. He could feel warm breath against his neck, followed shortly by the softest of kisses. He closed his eyes so they didn't flutter like a damsel.

"Mmm," Raoul hummed, threading his fingers into dark hair. "You… you sounded lovely tonight." Behind Erik's back, Christine stood in shock, her face ashen. "You sang…" Raoul opened his eyes, giving Christine a piercing look that clearly said he had found another. "_You sang like an angel._" Erik, who knew the signifigance of the statement, tightened his hold on Raoul, confirming that he had gotten the message. The words he had once said to Christine were now for him, proving Raoul had indeed given all of himself to Erik with nothing left for the diva.

"And you looked wonderful. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I courted you?"

Raoul blinked in confusion, pulling back. "What have we been doing for the past two months?" Erik laughed. "No, Erik, I'm serious. What have we been doing? Pre-dating?" Erik laughed again.

"Yes, love, pre-dating. This here is the beginning of the real relationship."

Behind Erik, Christine stood, fury in her eyes. Poor woman, Raoul thought. To have two men doting on her hand and foot, only to realize she has none. Erik laid another kiss on his neck and he smiled, his mind wandering from the angry woman.

"HERE!" she shrieked suddenly, drawing Raoul's attention back. "HE IS HERE, THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA—AND HE HAS _SEDUCED THE VICOMTE DE CHAGNY!_"

Erik froze in his arms, turning on her with a look of utter hatred. "YOU! What do you think you are doing, you blasted harpy?"

She gave them a vicious smile. "I am… I am taking my revenge! I am—"

Raoul hadn't even seen Erik's arm dart out, nor had he seen the lasso around her neck. "The Punjab lasso," he murmured in horror. Erik's face was a mask—pun not intended—reavealing nothing but careful control. Christine fell, her face white once more. "Erik! No matter what she did, she didn't deserve to—"

"Raoul, my Raoul, she is only unconscious," Erik said soothingly. "It's okay. Come, we must leave. She will be found, for she has led the mob right into my home." Raoul took Erik's hand in complete trust, following him past the curtain into the dark underground as they ran from Erik's doom.

_If Erik is death_… Raoul thought as they hastened toward the light at the end of the catacomb's tunnel, _then let me die with him._

**Sweet, ain't it? Yeah, we had a concert tonight, and my boyfriend leaned over and went "you looked beautiful last night. I was going to ask if you wanted to date" and I looked at him and went "what have we been doing? Pre-dating?" So yeah. Background story! **

**Kandakicksass**


	6. The Bet

Erik tried to decide if he'd completely dreamed it, or if he was just going crazy.

You see, he distinctly remembered the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny just walk up to him and kiss him before walking away, and as far as he knew, that was… well, a little… beyond the norm. Kisses from the viscount? Surely not.

He stood there, completely alone, and touched his lips lightly. They tingled slightly from the forgein sensation and when he touched them he snapped back to reality and glared at the spot in the curtains that Raoul had disappeared behind. Now that he thought about it, he really didn't like those curtains. Their golden color reminded him of a certain de Chagny, and that would not do. Of course, that wasn't why he was getting rid of them. He just didn't like them.

It wasn't that Raoul had just left him through the curtains, or that they were the same shade as the ribbon in the viscount's hair. No. He just didn't like them. So, without further ado, he climbed on one of the catwalk ropes to the top and yanked them down, watching in satisfaction as they crushed both Carlotta and Sorelli, both of whom screamed.

Loudly.

He made a face, but he couldn't say he didn't like the way that little adventure had turned out. It was then when he happened to look up.

Raoul looked at the curtains, then up at the reason for their fall. He grinned in that boyish way of his and ducked out of the hall. Erik's eyes bulged out of his head and he growled under his breath, following the cheerful vicomte with an angry expression.

"What was that all about?" he bellowed when he'd caught up. Normally, he would have said 'caught', period, but it appeared that Raoul was waiting for him in the hallway, standing next to Christine's dressing room, but Erik wasn't paying enough attention to realize this, or that the singer was listening quite intently to their argument—or rather, soon-to-be argument.

Raoul looked up at him with a cheeky smile. "What was what about, M. Phantom?"

Erik found himself shoving the boy backward, but he just hopped back and laughed. "I demand you tell me what you intended with that… that… _incident_!" he snapped. Raoul laughed again.

"Why, M. Phantom, are you angry with me?" When Erik shoved him again, his musical laughter just got louder. "What? Did I steal your first kiss?"

Erik missed Christine's little gasp of surprise, but not Raoul's smug, triumphant smirk, and interpreted the look (which of course was meant for Mlle. Daaé, who was positively livid that Raoul had made a move on her angel of music) as being proud of himself for getting to the ghost.

"Don't think I won't kill you!" he growled, advancing on the vicomte. "I am tempted to do just that."

"But you won't," Raoul sang, meeting Erik halfway and confusing him. Usually, this was the part where people ran from him, yes?

"What makes you think that, you irritating little fop?" he asked in an ominously calm voice. Raoul batted his eyelashes up at Erik, that grin still on his pretty face. Erik wasn't sure what to do in this situation.

"Because you _liked _it," he giggled, and jumped back when Erik sucked in a sharp breath and lunged forward, preferably to kill the stupid little aristocrat. "You seem awfully put out, M. Phantom," Raoul teased. "Did I do something to anger you? Surely a kiss didn't make you so furious."

"You'd no right," he hissed. "And I don't even know why you'd want to. Are you trying to convince me to kill you quicker?"

Raoul laughed again, and walked forward, putting himself in Erik's range, who took ahold of the vicomte. Of course, once he had him, he wasn't quite sure what to do with him. He hadn't really thought the 'murder' plan all the way through…

Of course, the viscount did something that shocked him into forgetting his musings. The moment Raoul's lips touched his, his mind blanked and he was able to comprehend nothing but the still-smiling vicomte that was kissing him, _again_.

His arms were still around Raoul, originally in an attempt to hold him down until he could figure out what to do with him. Now, though, he couldn't stop himself from wrapping the viscount up in his arms much tighter and letting Raoul deepen the kiss, losing his smirk as it became heavier and his breath came quicker.

When he pulled away, there was a slight flush on his cheeks. "If I asked…" He paused to breathe, his eyes alit with passion. He looked… sly? _What is this little minx up to? _"If I asked you to pick me up after the ballet practice tonight, would you comply?" He played with the collar on his shirt with a mischevious smile.

"I…" Erik was at a loss for what to say. Was the viscount _hitting _on him? Raoul kissed his jaw teasingly, his eyes practically begging him to comply. _Dammit. Why the doe eyes? _"Yes?"

Raoul grinned and kissed him again, releasing the phantom and in turn, Erik let go of him. "Good. Don't wear yourself out too much, M. Phantom," he purred, kissing him yet _again_. So many kisses, Erik thought he might drown in them. "Go, have fun. Terrorrize your opera house." He swatted Erik's ass playfully as he passed.

Erik was much to shocked to terrorrize. He went back to his little house on the lake and sat, still trying to comprehend what had occurred. Meanwhile, Raoul and Christine had a little chat.

"I told you," Raoul said smugly. "I _told _you he'd be more interested in me."

"I'm his protégé!" she said, her voice as shocked as Erik's. "How… why did he go for _you_?" Raoul laughed.

"I don't know, because he's got taste?"

"Yes, taste in flamboyant, overbearing gay men," she said flatly and Raoul nodded with a grin. "The gay opera ghost. Never thought I'd see the day."

Raoul just laughed at her and went off to prepare for his date with the oddly attractive man. His bet with Christine beside, he really did have quite the thing for the phantom… all those muscles and that _voice_… he had to shake himself to get himself out of fantasy land as he headed home to pick out his outfit for the night.

Not that he planned to wear it long, anyway.

**I'm not sure what happened here, but I like it! Thank you, everyone, for all the urging for me to continue.**

**Kandakicksass**


	7. Passion

**This is kind of an apology!drabble to make up for the lack of update on The Demands of an Opera Ghost, which I'm not even halfway finished with. Sorry, I'm just not there with it at the moment. But, here—a new drabble.**

"_You are so selfish!_"

Shortly following the harsh accusation was the sound of broken glass—a vase the vicomte had picked out a month before. Erik's eyes went from the seething blonde to the melancholy sight of the vase shards, shattered much like their relationship. "I'm the selfish one," he said slowly, turning his piercing golden eyes on his lover. "_I'm _the selfish one? Who sits around here all day using your brother's money—"

"_My family's money!_—"

"—doing nothing for your keep?" Erik sneered and in a fit of childish petulance, he scooped up a glass and threw it. It nearly smashed in Raoul's face, but missed by a hair, leaving Raoul unhurt and unfazed. He was obviously learning a thing or two from Erik because he hadn't batted an eyelash.

"Nothing for my keep," he repeated before narrowing his eyes and growling, "I'll show you doing _nothing for my keep_! You bastard! Yes, I _only_ patronize _your _opera house, warm _your _bed, and help you write _your _music! I realize I may not be a magnificent composer, or a good _murderer_, but I earn my keep!" Erik laughed at him, his voice sarcastic.

"Oh, yes. I've forgotten, you patronize the opera house. Do you realize how easy it would be to get a new patron, viscount? It would be simple!"

"Yes, with you romping about, terrifying managers and opera singers—yes, I'm sure it will be easy to find someone who will deal with that. Who knows—maybe you'll even get them to _sleep with you_! God knows I'm not unique in that_ at all_!"

"You think sleeping with me makes you special?"

"I do, actually," he bit out. "God knows no one else would ever do it!"

It was silent after that, but the glower in Erik's eyes made the guilt eat at him. He knew better than to goad him, but Erik had pissed him off so badly… and then he'd taken it way too far. If he knew better than to goad him, it was more than taboo to mention anything related to his looks.

"Yes," he ground out. "No one else…" Then he came forward and slapped Raoul sharply across the face. Normally, Raoul wasn't a fighter, but this time he raged—he flew at Erik, who had pulled away in surprise at his own actions, with a vengeance he barely knew he possessed. He didn't land a blow, until he managed to scratch Erik's cheek. After that it was simple a ferocious war of anger and spite.

When they were done with their battle Raoul cried and Erik held him close, so close that their bloodied lips and the black eye Erik now sported (he'd been shocked Raoul had that much fire in him, really) seemed meaningless. Raoul's knees gave and they sank to the ground, the sound of Raoul's cries echoing around them. Erik rocked him while he cried and he couldn't stop himself from letting a tear of his own out.

"I'm sorry," Raoul sobbed. "I'm so sorry! I don't want to fight anymore, Erik!"

"I know," Erik whispered, clutching Raoul tight to his chest, squeezing his eyes tightly together. "Don't think for a second that I don't know."

They had been spiraling out of control for so long—god knows their relationship had never been healthy. There had been too much passion, too much jealousy, from the very beginning. Either one was looking for reassurance or the one was bursting into tears from stress and reaching out blindly to the other… there had been too much dependance on both sides from the beginning, too much fire. They were perfect together, but maybe too perfect.

Raoul had been scared where it was leading for a long time, terrified, even when Erik seemed like he was drifting away, or unconcerned. That wasn't a surprise; Raoul had always been the worrier… the more delicate, the weaker of the two. Still, Raoul had a feeling they were heading nowhere pleasant. Either they would wither away together in silence, drowning out the rest of the world, or they would kill each other in a fit of blind passion.

Either way, he knew now. They were driving each other mad.

Of all the things Raoul had expected, it wasn't this. He'd even thought that Erik was going to leave him at one point (to be honest, sometimes he still thought he did), but even then he's managed to cling onto Erik. But driving each other to the brink of their sanity, wearing down their control over each other's emotions… it was even worse than anything else he'd imagined. Who knew what torture they could inflict on each other?

Somehow they wound up in bed naked, but they didn't have sex. No, they just laid there, for hours, Raoul curled in Erik's embrace, laying kisses up and down Erik's throat, his lover tracing the contours of Raoul's body reverently. He loved Erik, more than he'd ever dreamed he would love anyone. He was just… so frightened they would kill each other.

"I love you," Erik whispered. "No matter what I say, no matter what I do, I will always love you." _Despite the crazy, despite the pain, despite each other. _

"I love you, too."

He did.

**Ah, what a beautiful way to take out my own frustrations.**


	8. The Dominance Issue

Erik could not believe his eyes.

Now, he'd seen more in his lifetime than he'd care to admit, and some of that had extended to forms of homosexual sex, and he would be honest and say that he remembered those instances vividly. Never been a part of it, of course, but he'd seen it, and remembered. It was just his luck that now he'd see it again—but he didn't think he would have to _remember_.

The image would definitely be burned into the inside of his eyelids.

The viscount Raoul de Chagny, the pompous fop with his pretty blonde hair and captivating eyes, on his knees. Normally, the thought would have Erik cracking up, but instead of laughing, he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and locked his body at the burning feeling low in his belly.

Oh, yes.

Maybe it was the way Raoul was hollowing his cheeks, or maybe it was just how red and swollen his lips were—cocksucker's lips, for certain—as he let his mouth get fucked by one of the ballerinas. Erik could care less about the dancer, no matter how pretty he was with his messy chocolate hair and expressive green eyes. No, Raoul was the one Erik couldn't keep his eyes off of.

He'd never seen him so thoroughly debauched—or even really thought it, honestly. He'd entertained the notion that he had interest in men out of spite, but never thought about it with any depth. Of course, now that he was, it was probably one of the most arousing thoughts he'd ever had, and that topped Christine in skimpy lingerie.

The dancer (whom Erik was seriously starting to dislike, for more reasons than the fact that he couldn't sing half as well as he could dance) had his hands tangled in Raoul's hair and was pulling his mouth ever closer, choking him. He would have been irritated for it, but the blonde seemed to be enjoying it and Erik couldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy that little sounds he was making.

"You perfect little…" the dancer groaned and yanked on Raoul's hair, hard. "Mon _dieu_, I am so happy you became our patron…"

Erik resisted the urge to step out from the hall he was hiding in, peering into the supply closet, to point out that Raoul was _his _patron because it was _his _opera house. He resisted the urge to even think the words, because the thought made him want to start claiming Raoul for his own, that it should be him forcing his way into that pink mouth.

He watched, half-enthralled, half-disgusted, as the dancer with his dainty little body—even smaller than Raoul, who was pretty damn tiny in and of himself—came and Erik watched, glaring at the dancer like he could sear holes through his head, as Raoul swallowed and let the kid's soft cock slip from his mouth with a cheeky little grin.

"Viscount de Chagny," the dancer muttered weakly. "You—"

"Just getting my own kicks," Raoul said smoothly, but his grin didn't fade. The dancer slid down against the wall, sitting there with weak knees and a fuck-me expression. "Oh, no, don't give me that look, Pierre." Such a commonplace name, Erik thought snidely. "I've told you—I'm no dom."

"But Raoul," the boy whined and Erik made a face. He sounded like he was twelve instead of twenty, and the brunette was not impressed, but he currently wasn't paying much attention to the kid, anyway. He was more interested in what Raoul had said. "Raoul, I'm obviously no dom, either! I'm just so…" He made a keening sound from the back of his throat that made him sound ridiculously needy.

"I told you when you asked to hook up that I'm not into domination," Raoul said calmly, pulling away and straightening himself out. He ran his hands through his hair, calming it, and pulled out a golden ribbon to tie it with.

"Then let me try to dominate you, then," the boy argued—more like begged, he corrected grumpily—and reached up to grab at Raoul's crotch. The vicomte laughed and hopped backwards more gracefully than Pierre-boy managed to dance, or maybe that was just Erik's opinion.

Raoul flashed him a wide grin. "I have someone I'm set on, I'm afraid. Seems a tad mean, but, sweetie…" He leaned down and patted the dancer on the head. "I was just passing time here, just like you were."

Erik fully expected the whiner to burst into tears, but instead, he just pouted and looked up at Raoul with a dirty look. "You… suck." He stuck his lower lip out and made a little 'harumph'. "I was hoping I could trick you into something." Erik almost laughed, out loud. "You and your stupid opera ghost fantasy man," Pierre grumbled and Raoul laughed.

"A man can dream, can't he?" he said in a teasing voice, ruffling the boy's hair with a fond smile. "I think I'm turning you into a smaller version of me. I remember when you were still an innocent!"

Pierre reached up and knocked his hand away. "I wasn't _that _much of an innocent," he said with a roll of the eyes. "And only smaller in body. I'm barely three years younger than you are." This was true, though when it came to age, Erik couldn't tell. Pierre looked young, but Raoul always had this air of innocent delight to everything he did… which Erik now realized was not so innocent, but perhaps his energy was enough.

Erik hated to say he was becoming rather fond of Raoul. He would have to do something about that 'opera ghost' fantasy, though—really, living in a dream world just wouldn't do. He'd have to find some reality if he wanted to make it around here, really…

**Yeah.**

**Kandakicksass**


	9. Bitter

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, like crabapples or the fervent dream of his father's approval before the Comte's death. It was almost funny - he'd never expected the words 'I love you' to be so foreign or unwelcome on his tongue, but they were, even more so for the simple fact that they were true. He was disgusted with himself.

The man sitting across from him didn't seem too excited by the declaration. He was under no delusions of grandeur, of course. He could hear quite clearly, disfiguration or no, the edge to the words.

"As I you," he said at last after a long, mutual pause of thought. Then, after another moment's silence, added, "We've made a spectacle of ourselves." Raoul nodded.

"Christine will never forgive us," he agreed softly. "Well, I speak too quickly. Perhaps she will, in time."

"She has no reason to."

Raoul bit his lower lip, knowing he was right. "I can't help but wish she will, eventually. She loves us. Both of us, even if she doesn't want to admit it. It's why she could never choose."

"And we love each other." Raoul winced. The word _love _sounded so wrong on both their tongues. "I want to know how you did this to me, vicomte." Raoul blinked as he was suddenly in Erik's shadow. "I would never have done… _that_, especially not in Christine's dressing room. You bewitched me. How?"

"If you were bewitched then I was equally so," he sighed, looking up into Erik's face without flinching away. The mask lie on the couch where he'd thrown it amidst their arguing. He didn't understand the horror of it, personally. It was grusome, he supposed. Not too badly so. It almost resembled the remains of burn marks from long ago. His heart ached, knowing what he'd endured because of such a stupid thing.

"One minute we were fighting, the next I had a handful of your hair and your lips on mine. That doesn't just _happen_, vicomte."

"Apparently it does," he snapped back, standing and moving forward so they were chest to chest. "Quit blaming me, Erik. You wouldn't be so angry had Christine not walked in."

"I would be angry," Erik disagreed quietly. His hand slid up into Raoul's hair again. He didn't know where his hair tie had gone. "This is wrong."

"Perhaps," Raoul breathed, his blue eyes boring into amber. "Nothing to do about it now."

Erik examined his expression wearily before kissing him lightly. "I suppose not." Discouraging any more words, he kissed Raoul again.


End file.
